


hero's soup

by kingsolace



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Childhood Friends, Elemental Magic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Royalty, hand holding, im bad at tagging pls, rly gay, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsolace/pseuds/kingsolace
Summary: In a world where monarchs acquire an elemental power that their lineage is attuned to, the Crowned Prince of Watersgate, Han Jisung, didn’t get his own when he came of age. And so when Lee Minho of Fiery’s High found out that his childhood friend whom he had started having freshly bloomed feelings for went missing, he was utterly devastated.Days later, all the kingdoms were shaken when the Hearth of the 3rd Eye was lit — signifying that the God of All who molded all the elemental deities’ works as one has finally chosen the successor of the Gift of Attunement after centuries of being dormant.or a royal elemental magic gays au that definitely no one asked for!





	hero's soup

Winter marked its prodigious place in Minho’s heart. 

 

It was amid the taunting winds of winter when the three defining events of Minho’s life transpired: it was winter when he first met Han Jisung, when he fell in love with him, and it was also winter when he lost him.

 

Everything started inside the towering halls of Fiery High’s castle where people everywhere were bustling among the expanse of the corridors, each one equally as busy as the other while they carry out their designated tasks to prepare for the demands hefted on their shoulders brought upon the taxing costs of winter. Not to mention that the castle was also preparing for the visit of the Watersgate royals, their kingdom’s closest ally. 

 

The convening hall was filled with the muffled noises of the servants and highborns alike undermined by the loud thuds of heavy footsteps from those who come and go in what was referred to as the castle’s common area. The tall windows that encompass the room allowed the entrance of the whining wind that violently slapped against each one’s heavy coatings; the cold ever unforgiving to the people whose fire courses through their very veins.

 

Lee Minho was seated on one of the wide-ranging windows, his leg dangling outside while the other remained within the room’s hold. His gaze intermittently shifted from the wide breadth of landscape sweeped by whiteness with the snow’s stronghold on their land encapsulated from the hill on which their castle stands on, to the total contrary inside whose color sparked with crimson red  — the same color of the finery wrapped around his very body.

 

The prince, nine years old by age, liked observing. He was very keen, and his profound desire to look into his people’s behavior often led him to this spot where people of differing statuses are packed in. This was his respite from the rigorous and painfully tedious tutoring every day; actually  _ learning  _ about the people he would someday serve gave him a sense of purpose. 

 

He noticed how strongly one’s ascribed status could influence the way they behave. How the highborn ones are restricted by default from acting in their own accord, and how they are caged to a certain set of demeanor. They were programmed to behave like the other until one would find it hard to point out the disparity in their actions. It was these codes that Minho had to live up to, in measures that are twice as uptight. 

 

He saw the big gap that divided the few ruling ones to the common masses. He noticed how characteristically joyous they all were, and how they were free with their self-expression which was seen as an unacceptable mishap in Minho’s stead. He was thoroughly confused as to why people will go to a certain extent of preserving their power with the few noblemen at the expense of their own happiness, but he never dared question it. He knew he was blessed enough to come from a family whose direct lineage is linked to the God who sprung fire to life, and who gave their people a purpose they’re still led to up to now.

 

Minho looked, for the last time, on the people that were congregated in the massive hall and shifted his sight outside. His clothing wasn’t as thick as the others with layers after layers of garments, but the arctic-white snow and the lacerating coldness it carried barely perturbed him. It was one of the perks of being a monarch of the Fiery’s High; although his elemental power hadn’t manifested yet, its impending release already rooted deep within his system. It kept him warm. 

 

Not long after, he felt a few light taps on his shoulder. He turned around and was immediately faced by a man whose stance radiated unyielding composure, further accented by the richly woven cloak splayed with a lighter shade of red. “Woojin,” Minho acknowledged. 

 

Woojin, the son of yet another noble family in this kingdom who’s a year older than him, gave him a generous smile. Woojin, unlike Minho, was very persistent in attending his personal classes; his commitment to his title as a nobleman astounded Minho. Woojin prided himself to be one of the most promising nobleman that will spearhead their kingdom’s own army someday, following his father’s footsteps. 

 

“Minho, I’ve been told by father that the Watersgate royals are already here in our land,” Woojin informed him. With that, Minho leaped down from where he was situated on and leveled himself with the boy in front of him. 

 

Although Woojin appeared to be intimidating to his peers with his indomitable spirit, Minho knew how much of a caring and soft-hearted person Woojin is. He remembered how unlike the other kids of high status who refuse to hold a long conversation with Minho due to the fear of his title, Woojin willingly befriended Minho and driven the loneliness that once loomed him seeing as how his peers get along easily. 

 

“What do you think of them, Woojin? What do you think they’d be like?” Minho asked, genuinely curious with the ordeal. His father only told him that their kingdoms have always been closed among the others for centuries, but never really about the people they’re about to face. 

 

“My mother told me that they’re very nice people, and that folks of Watersgate are very friendly. So maybe we’ll get to have friends of our own from our neighboring kingdom,” Woojin said as a matter of fact, never straying his attention to Minho as he speak. Minho only nodded and let the comfortable silence shared between the two of them fill through.

 

A loud horn was heard from outside the castle and it seemed to have reverberated on the entirety of the hall. The people who were engrossed in their personal conversations rushed to the windows, driven by curiosity. There were hushed whispers on all sides of the room, some openly gushing on the wonders of what they saw as some subtly expressed their excitement by pointing outside.

 

Minho peaked a look outside. He saw multiple carriages carried by horses galloping swiftly toward the castle, easily getting past the layers of snow encased on the road. There were several people riding horses playing the horn to attract attention through the obstreperous sound of their instrument, and those who were raising large blue banners signifying the sigil of the kingdom of Watersgate. It was a sight to behold, filling everyone with unadulterated anticipation.

 

With that, Minho remembered his father’s words. He was told to come down on the throne room once the people of Watersgate have finally arrived. He tagged Woojin along with him and proceeded to the throne room.

 

The room, very much unlike the convening hall, was enclosed and had barely any remnant of sunlight. It was brimming with the kingdom’s life itself as every corner was emblazoned with the perpetual presence of dancing flames, heightening the power that Fiery’s High possesses. The door opened, and the flames thrummed relentlessly. 

 

Noble families were gathered in both sides of the room, while the royal family stood proud in the center, championing the decadence of their land with the way they presented themselves upon everyone’s faces. Lords and Ladies of Watersgate Kingdom entered the hall graciously, showcasing their power through their display of extravagant attires heavily laced with extortionate accessories. 

 

Finally, the herald stepped forward followed by two bannermen raising the Watersgate sigil and colors, and declared, “Ladies and gentlemen of Fiery’s High, you are witnessing the resolute rulers of the Watersgate Kingdom, the Han royal family!” 

 

The King and Queen strode the halls delicately, managing a sly smile every now and then. The crowns that rested upon their heads glinted across the hall, their confident and calculated steps allowing them to tower over the people around them.

 

Held by the Watersgate Queen’s hand was a small boy whose eyes widened in excitement, his age seemingly just slightly younger than Minho. He observed the boy and was startled for quite a while with how the boy carried himself as a prince. The boy’s blonde hair brimmed almost just as much as the crowns on his parents’ heads, and it looked too soft and well-groomed. He also wore his emotions as conspicuously as he did with his lavishly embellished blue tunic coated with a black cloak embroidered with their family’s sigil. He was enthusiastically waving at everyone and leaping whenever he gets the chance, displaying a wide smile that would’ve reached both his ears had he tried more.

 

Minho was amused, to say the least.

 

When both the Watersgate and Fiery High’s rulers were finally face-to-face, nearly everyone were holding their breath as the tensed atmosphere crawled on their very skins. It all dissipated when both Kings and Queens held hands and exchanged friendly smiles, the room thundering in a collective applause.

 

Lee Minho obligingly extended his hand to the other prince in front of him, offering the boy a smile. He was met with a beam. They shook their hands and the other boy spoke first, “Red is my favorite color.” 

 

Minho squinted his eyes questioningly. 

 

“I’m Lee Minho,” he said.

 

“I know. And I’m Han Jisung,” the other boy responded, grinning widely. 

 

Han Jisung was a wonder that Minho was still trying to figure out. It was already the afternoon when he saw him talking to Woojin. Minho scrutinized both boys and was slightly shocked with how easy it was for Jisung to befriend a complete stranger from a foreign land  — a stranger that even people from his own land were too scared to approach.

 

It wasn’t the first time he noticed that. A few minutes later, he had also been able to fall in a casual conversation with few of the noblemen’s children, actually indulging them openly. Jisung didn’t act the way Minho was programmed to be; thinly veiling his emotions and projecting an aura of indifference as how a leader should do. 

 

Minho turned around, perhaps too aggressively. He found Woojin on one of the library’s sections, navigating through the large selection of books in front of them. 

 

“Woojin, what do you think of Jisung? The prince of Watersgate?” Minho asked eagerly, unconsciously tapping the shelves incessantly. 

 

“Hmm,” Woojin paused, considering the question asked of him, “I think he’s great. He’s a really fun kid to be around, and a lot of the other people said he was fun to play with.” 

 

That day, Minho tried to brush the boy off his mind. He intended to distract himself by advancing on some of his tutor’s lessons but was interrupted when he heard someone running down the halls behind him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a servant tasked with an errand he had to accomplish immediately, but the elegant display of his clothing said otherwise. It was Jisung, wide-eyed and short of breath, in front of him.

 

“Minho!” Jisung said, gasping as he catches his breath. “I was looking for you everywhere.”

 

Minho raised his eyebrows, surprised that the boy who has already acquainted himself with a lot of people within their land was looking specifically for him. If he wasn’t lying, he was jealous of how easy it was for the other kid to befriend his peers and display his emotions so flagrantly. 

 

“Why? Do you need something?” Minho asked, a bite of rush mixed with the sly presence of infuriation. Instead, Jisung remained unfazed and only smiled ever wider. 

 

“I want you to be my friend!” Jisung declared boldly.

 

Minho saw him earlier as someone whose princely attitude was almost out of the equation because he failed to act the way he was taught, but right at that very moment, he was disproved by his own sight: He saw the confidence that oozed off the composure that Jisung held despite voicing a sentiment Minho wouldn’t find himself saying, and the way he truly  _ looked  _ at someone with his eyes. Like he was really paying attention to the person he was speaking to.

 

And so, despite Minho’s previous sentiments against the boy, he held his guard down and responded simply, “Okay.”

 

Jisung leaped and pulled Minho by his wrist. Jisung asked him if he could tour him around the castle, and Minho agreed. 

 

They ventured through each of the room within the castle, Minho providing a succinct description of the halls every now and then as Jisung motioned dramatically to whatever he’d deem wondrous. They’ve started to banter with each other, too, which annoyed Minho at first but then found himself laughing heartily at Jisung’s snide remarks not long after.

 

That night, sleep came easily for Minho. 

 

The whole week was busy for the entire kingdom; countless meetings stretched ceaselessly as they prepare for a threat that remains to be kept hidden to Minho. He didn’t mind much. He knew that the adults would be able to resolve it, and that it couldn’t be that serious for their lives lately have been nothing but well.

 

He spent the entire week with Jisung, the person he once believed was very different from him. Jisung enabled him to get closer to his own peers, something which he has always been filled with trepidation of doing before. With Jisung by his side, everything smoothly flowed; everything was as calm as the brief periods when the whistling winds of the season hushed down abruptly from its violent strides.

 

Minho was also introduced to Jisung’s friend from his own kingdom, Changbin. He was shorter than the both of them but he still somehow managed to scare anyone else away with his sharp looks and often unimpressed gestures. When Minho has gotten to know him, though, he found himself giving a person yet another wrong impression. Changbin was one of the softest people he knew, and everything went smoothly with him too.

 

Time flew by quickly, and it was already time for the people of Watersgate to leave. Before Jisung enter their carriage, he hurriedly ran towards Minho the same way he did on his first day down the halls and screamed, just as loud, “Minho!”

 

He held his pinky finger out and faced Minho. “Promise me we’re still going to be friends next year! And the other year!” 

 

Minho smiled, and intertwined his pinky finger to Jisung’s. “Promise.”

 

The entire period of his life after that seemed to have dazed in a fastforward motion, until it was finally time again for the royals of the Watersgate Kingdom to visit their palace. Minho wasn’t able to sleep properly the night before their arrival due to his unrestrained excitement of seeing his friend once more after a full year of separation.

 

At that time, Minho was ten and Jisung was eight. Jisung ran as if his whole life depended on it and when he reached Minho, he hugged him tightly. Minho was taken aback by the gesture, but he allowed himself to bask on its comfort and hugged the other boy just as tightly. Jisung pulled back and said, “You’re so warm!”

 

That day, they spent the entirety of the day outside despite the writhing coldness that seethed through their skin. They hauled themselves their own spot where the skies are most visible and laid down, talking about whatever it was that came to their mind.

 

“Minho, I wonder why there are poor people on the faraway places of our kingdom that suffer while we’re comfortably rich. I don’t know why our lives have to be very different,” Jisung suddenly remarked, his voice laced with drowsiness. 

Minho considered the thought and responded, “It’s the same with Fiery’s High! There are a lot of rich people here including us but somehow, even more poor ones on far places. But father said we shouldn’t mind them much, because we have the noble people anyway.”

 

Jisung’s face scrunched and he sat up. “That’s kind of unfair. They’re our people, too, right? They should be more like Peter the First!” 

 

Minho sighed, and agreed. Everyone knew of Peter the First. It was the most famous legend among the world. He was known to be the guy who saved the world from its doom and brought them hope. 

 

Peter the First cared for the common people, first and foremost. He was known to be the most powerful elemental wielder of his time, and his sincere compassion after the disenfranchised made him worthy to be granted with Cephus  — the Supreme God of All who molded all the works that the elemental Gods and Goddesses have woven to create the world and humans alike  — Gift of Attunement. The gift that enabled Peter to control all elements with equal mastery, one that granted him the power of salvation. 

 

When Peter was chosen, the Hearth of The 3rd Eye was lit. Each kingdom has this hearth, shielded by their respective elements. But when the Gift of Attunement was vested upon Peter the First, the elements paved the way and showed the true form of the hearth with a fire that will never be snuffed out unless the Chosen One dies. 

 

Until now, the elements that shield the hearth remained to be present in all four kingdoms, dormant ever since. 

 

“They say Peter the First’s soul was linked to a lover that let him be the most powerful one when he needed it the most. Whoever embodies the soul of Peter the First now must be so lucky!” Jisung said dreamily. 

 

“But the Hearth hasn’t been lit for centuries,” Minho pointed out.

 

“Maybe I will! Maybe I have Peter’s soul, after all!” Jisung excitedly remarked, gaping at the prospect. Minho noticed that Jisung has the propensity to  _ always  _ gape whenever he found something remotely interesting.

 

Minho laughed and encouraged his friend, “Maybe. Or maybe I am!”

 

They held out a banter all throughout as to who might emobody Peter the First’s soul after all. Moments later, Jisung started to shiver through his three-layered cloak and heavily covered tunic. 

 

Minho was barely affected, so he held Jisung’s hand and tried to transfer as much warmth as he could. Jisung smiled at him just as warmly. 

 

At such unexpected turn of events, the moment Minho lifted his other hand up, surges of fire formed and bolted straight from where his hand was directed to. Jisung shrieked and jumped, petrified of what he had just seen. Minho, however, was at the brink of tears when realization dawned on him

 

His elemental power as part of the royal family has finally manifested. 

 

It took Jisung a few moments of absolute panic before he realized what happened. When he did, he seemed to be more excited than Minho was. He repeatedly boasted to no one in particular how his friend already managed to manifest. 

 

The King and Queen were inundated with joy when they heard about the revelation, and so they held a party for the whole kingdom to celebrate the crowned prince’s manifestation of power. Minho and Jisung sneaked out the party, though, and celebrated on their own. They spent the night uncovering what more Minho could do with his power, and mostly exploited it to roast marshmallows of their own. 

 

That night, the stars above shone just a little bit brighter.

 

When it was already time for the Han family to go, Jisung hugged him one last time and congratulated him for his manifest. He held his pinky finger out again, and in the same practice, promised the same deal. 

 

When Minho was 11 and Jisung was 9, the visit was no longer exclusive just to the Watersgate royals. Minho found out that their palace would be hosting an Inter-Kingdoms Integration among the royal families of the four kingdoms. Minho was nervous of having to encounter more of the monarchs, but he was easily stilled when he saw Jisung.

 

Jisung, just the same as ever, excitedly leaped when he met Minho and hugged him. They weren’t able to spend their time with each other alone as they had to meet with the other two crowned prince of the neighboring kingdoms, but Jisung clung to Minho. 

 

Minho dragged Woojin with him the same way Jisung did to Changbin. They all met with the royals of the two other kingdoms in the castle’s Fiery Haven. It was the highest level in the structure’s gigantic build, giving them full access on the skies. The winds that relentlessly swirled around them howled in animosity. 

 

The prince of Windsor was unnerved, though; even enjoying it. He introduced himself to be Lee Felix. His speech on the medium of their tongue was heavy on accent, and they were later informed that their land was multilingual in nature and the tongue that was common among all wasn’t his first one. Beside him was a blonde-haired guy with a sturdy build, his eyes calculating but also welcoming. They found out his name is Cristopher Bang, and he was set to be the leader of The Winged Battalion  — Windor’s army. Cristopher easily warmed to Woojin, seeing how the the two of them shared a great deal of many things in common.

 

The prince of Boulder’s Keep, on the other hand, reacted vehemently multiple times on the wind’s seeming violence. He introduced himself as Hwang Hyunjin. Minho noted how very princely he looked like, and how his actions were perfect paragon of the kind of regalty his parents always nagged about for him to become. He was also truly dramatic, even more so than Jisung which does say a lot. He had two people on his side; a red-haired boy who seemed to be  _ too  _ young to be there but with extremely menacing and taunting eyes whose name is Yang Jeongin, one who was being trained to become the Master of War, and the other one with brown hair whose name is Kim Seungmin, Hyunjin’s second hand.

 

At first, the air was tensed. It quickly died off with the way Jisung mingled with everyone easily, just as Minho knew he would. He was casually pitching in the conversation every now and then, happily contented with observing the people gathered in their very circle who all happened to share the same wavelength. 

 

Minho felt something lurch in his stomach, though, when he noticed how Jisung and him barely talked since they’ve gotten here. Jisung was already engrossed in his conversation with Hyunjin and Felix, both of whom were very carefree around him. He didn’t know what to call the feeling that built up in him, but he knew he wasn’t very happy.

 

Minho excused himself from the boys around him, and saw that Jisung spared him a quick smile. He only nodded before he proceeded to go outside. He went to the same spot Jisung and him were in the previous year when his power manifested. He laid down and looked at the skies, Jisung’s absence growing as a phantom that wouldn’t stop bothering Minho. It wasn’t as warm, but he was managing.

 

He closed his eyes for a few moments. The instant he opened his eyes, Jisung’s face blocked the view of the skies. He was speaking through his grin, “Minho!”

 

Jisung laid beside him, and everything seemed to be easier again. 

 

“Why did you go? I thought you were having a good time,” Jisung asked, his tone dejected. 

 

“Well, all of you are already having your own good time and there really wasn’t much for me,” Minho answered, his voice getting small.

 

Jisung turned to face Minho. “Yes, but I know for sure that we’re going to have more fun when you’re with us! We were actually talking about you, and Hyunjin and Felix would like to get to know you more.”

Jisung made everything seem so easy  _ again.  _ He decided to give it another chance, and went with Jisung to reconvene with Felix and Hyunjin.

 

Minho found out that Felix, Hyunjin, and him had a lot of things in common than he could account himself for. He found out that both Felix and Hyunjin were also invested in the art of dancing, an interest that he kept only for himself for the many years he has been practicing on his own. The three of them shared the same sentiment as to how that art they propagate allowed them to express themselves in a way that nothing else could let them do so. He found himself growing exceptionally closer to the both of them especially Felix whom he had been spending more time with, teaching each other not only what they know in dancing, but also of the differing languages they are native of.

 

The nine of them easily formed an alliance among them that transcended political gains and partnership. The friendship they have solidified opened up a lot of possibilities for them to someday coexist as kingdoms who will be helping each other amid all costs. 

 

Jisung found out about Minho’s dancing, and Minho found out about Jisung’s own art of self-expression which is writing. 

 

That year was, by far, the best. And Minho wouldn’t dare exchange it for anything else. 

 

The next year of visit, Minho was 12 and Jisung was 10. This time, though, Jisung no longer leaped when he saw Minho nor shouted his name as he raced through the hall to reach Minho. He still managed a smile when he reached Minho, and immediately informed him, “I still haven’t manifested.”

 

Minho held Jisung’s hand and pulled him to their usual spot. It wasn’t long before Jisung was able to regain his usual cheery attitude. He hugged Minho, perhaps the tightest he ever did.

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do this earlier! I was just really sad,” Jisung said, and then pulled back. Minho smiled and assured him it’s okay. 

 

“I just realized I shouldn’t be sad, you know? Maybe I haven’t manifested yet because I’m meant to get them all! Like Peter the First!” Jisung added, his usual beam now growing more in effulgence. 

 

_ But Peter the First had his power manifested,  _ Minho wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to have his friend’s light forever dimmed, so he only nodded and said, “Yes, I think so too.”

 

That night, Minho found Jisung crying in the depths of the darkness, enveloped by the shadows coming alive as they tore through Minho’s own chest. He felt his heart constrict seeing his friend in that state. He desperately wanted to not only assuage the boy’s sadness, but take it for himself so he would no longer have to see his friend bear it, but he can’t. 

Minho held Jisung’s hand, their fingers tightly intertwined. Minho squeezed it once, an assurance that he’s there. Jisung squeezed back, as if to say he  _ knows.  _ And somehow, words were no longer needed to know they will go through this together.

 

They spent the following days pretending like nothing happened. Jisung tried to come back with his usual joyous self, but his smiles were now only exclusive to his lips and no longer with his eyes; the glint lost, its happiness only half.

 

Even when the royal family of Watersgate already returned to their own kingdom, there was never a day when Minho didn’t pray to all the gods to keep Jisung safe and happy. 

 

Three years passed and the usual visit pushed through; Minho would like to claim that Jisung and him have been spending the time with the same amount of fervor and joy, but since Jisung turned 10 and hasn’t manifested, he  _ changed.  _ Minho saw it with the way he restrained himself from excessively expressing himself through his mindless rambles, with the way Jisung would sometimes zone out when the two of them were talking, and how Jisung no longer talked about Peter the First nor has he mentioned magic. 

 

When Minho was 16 and Jisung was 14, something sparked back to life. Jisung, despite growing significantly, leaped through the halls when he saw Minho and hugged him tightly in front of all the noble families. “Minho!”

 

Minho’s heart warmed, a feeling he barely felt since four years ago. He basked in its warmth, and hugged Jisung even tighter. “Jisung,” he mumbled. 

 

It was also then when Minho felt something tug in his chest when he saw how much Jisung changed. The boy’s shoulders have gotten broader, and he was almost as tall as him now. The same expression of innocence painted on his face hasn’t changed a bit, but his features matured dramatically. 

 

Minho thought that tug would’ve been temporary, but he felt it again when Jisung held his hand and pulled him. And again when Jisung’s face inched very closely to his own,  _ and again  _ when Jisung sang to him. 

 

Minho wasn’t unfamiliar with that feeling; he has heard of this from the several novels he was coerced to read from his tutors. The feeling of butterflies blooming in his stomach; of never being able to take the person off your mind regardless of how hard you tried to.

 

He knew it meant something, but he knew it might only ruin the friendship he treasures the most with Jisung, so he brushed it off.

 

“I am deemed the best dueller in our kingdom! I’ve spent most of my time training and made sure I will be unparalleled in my strength and skills, and I now am!” Jisung happily narrated. His mood shifted when he added, “I needed to make sure that although I don’t have my power, I will not be a burden to the throne.”

 

Minho felt his heart clench when he heard that. He held Jisung’s shoulder and squeezed it. “You don’t need a power to be strong and a good leader, Jisung. Those two things are something you’ve already acquired ever since, and your incapability to manifest will never make you less of the best person that you are. Anyone who’d say otherwise will meet my fist.”

 

Jisung rested his head on Minho’s shoulder and whispered, “Thank you. For everything.” 

 

And then, Minho felt  _ it  _ again. 

 

That afternoon, his eyes were blindfolded as he was led to his room by Jisung because apparently, the younger had a surprise for him. He simply went along, disregarding the abnormally fast thrumming of his heart. 

 

“Minho, you may take the blindfolds off now!” Jisung whispered. When Minho took the blindfolds off, he was met with nothing out of the ordinary in his room. He raised his eyebrows.

 

And then, he heard consecutive meowing and he felt something  _ soft _ move on his feet. He almost leapt from shock, but it just as quickly shifted to extreme happiness. Too extreme that there might have been be a few tears building up in his eyes. 

 

Jisung cupped Minho’s cheeks in worry, “Oh gods, are you crying? Do you hate it? Are you allergic to cats? Are they ug — ”

 

Minho shushed him. “No, it’s perfect.”

 

Jisung sighed in relief. Before he could even say anything, Minho already had him squeezed tightly in his arms. 

 

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Jisung asked, fondness tinged in his voice.

 

Minho looked only at Jisung and answered, “Yes.” 

 

Minho named his cats Doongie, Soongie, and Dori. Minho spent the entire night tending to his cats, his heart sprawling in pure bliss whenever any of the three purrs upon his touch. 

 

The next day, Minho was able to witness Jisung duel. And Jisung was absolutely right when he described himself to be their kingdom’s greatest dueller. Jisung was the greatest fighter Minho has ever seen, and that says a lot considering how he’s surrounded by their own kingdom’s elite warriors. Jisung moved as if the very air carries him and his body connected with all the threads of this world wherein all the elements were founded on. 

Jisung was flawless in combat, very forthcoming without even trying and faultless with so much ease. 

 

That was when Minho made peace with the fact that  _ maybe  _ he truly does feel something for his childhood friend.

 

The next time Jisung visited, he was 15 and Minho was 17. Minho was amused at how much could change with Jisung over the period of only a whole year. His jaw grew more prominent, his lips  _ too _ alluringly pinkish. The irises of his eyes seemed to have grew larger, encapsulating more of the gleam Minho was so captivated of. His cheeks, though, remained just as soft and chubby. Minho smiled, and for the first time since he knew Jisung, the other boy flustered. 

 

“So much have changed about you,” Jisung commented.

 

“I could say the same to you.”

 

Once more, they spent their time on their spot, ensconced on each other’s presence that they didn’t even notice when the moon finally took its place on the nightsky, painting the large expanse with countless stars that illuminated Jisung’s features perfectly. Minho felt intrusive for staring, so he quickly looked away. 

 

“Minho, I have something to tell you,” Jisung said, his voice nothing but serious. Minho turned to face him. 

 

“Ominous, huh?” 

 

“I’m new to this, so I’m not sure how to do it, but I asked my mom what it meant and my mind was cleared. I kinda have a crush on you. I think about you all the time, and how much I enjoy holding your hand and talking to you. I always miss you and I just can’t seem to stop thinking about you. And I think you’re really cute. You’re also super nice and skilled so you aren’t making it any easier for me. I hope it won’t feel awkward around us because I really treasure our friendship more than anything else, but my mom also told me it’s best if I tell you. No secrets, right?” Jisung turned to look at the stars, sighing deeply, as if he was finally freed from something that has always shackled him. His voice was soft all throughout, constantly fidgeting, unsure whether he was saying the right things. 

 

Minho’s heart was frantic. He wasn’t able to hear anything but the loud thump of his heart, afraid that it’s going to jump out of his chest any time now. He looked at the stars, too, and he tried to make sense of what was happening amid the overflowing flurry of emotions building up in his stomach. 

 

“I kinda have a crush on you too, or whatever they call it. I can’t stop thinking about you and about holding your hand. Whenever I feel tired about a lot of things as a prince, thinking about you makes me feel at ease. Everything is easier with you. You make me so happy,” Minho finally blurted, his heart finally freed. 

 

In truth, both boys didn’t know what they were supposed to do next. They were both new with the whole ordeal, the only time they were able to indulge in their own lives without having to worry about their duties as princes. It was the most freeing moment of their lives. 

 

They didn’t know what to do next, so they did the only thing they could: they held each other’s hands, and right then and there, the stars were witnesses of the boys’ freshly bloomed feelings for each other. Minho never felt warmth embraced him as good as it did right at that very moment. 

 

A few days before Minho’s 18th Birthday, winter took its dominion on their lands. He felt even better, because winter has always been his personal favorite. It was, after all, the season that brought Jisung to him. 

 

The whole castle once more bustled with life in collective preparation of Minho’s grand birthday celebration. 18th birthday in the kingdom of Fiery’s High was the most important; it was the 18th when emancipation was given to their land, 18 people of First The Fire Formation who brought them glory, and it was the 18th birthday of the first ever monarch of Fiery’s High when the God of Fire crowned him ruler as he came from his own direct lineage.

 

That specific day will never be forgotten by Minho, because it was the same day when  _ the news  _ broke out. 

 

It started with some of the servants dropping their work to murmur with one another, each one exhibiting a ghastly expression as much as the other. The word spread around quickly until the whole castle was caught in a state of unrest. The noblemen started darting pitiful looks towards Minho’s direction.

 

Minho was agitated; dread crawled in his very skin, taking roots as if to tell him something was  _ very very wrong.  _ He was about to approach one of the many noblemen shooting him a commiserating look when Woojin held his shoulder tightly, as if grounding him.

 

Minho’s heart was beating fast, and breathing started to become an insurmountable struggle to him. “What’s happening, Woojin?

 

“Minho, Jisung was reported missing. Left without any trace. It’s been months, and he hasn’t come back yet. They fear he’s . . .” Woojin paused, softening his grip on Minho, “gone.”

 

The world paced slowly, stilled; and freezed.

 

And everything went black. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi pls spare some comments !! < 333 hope you enjoyed it, you may talk to me on twitter @strayroha if you'd like :) unbeta'd so excuse the grammatical errors for now


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